Page 128 of Second Sets Omnibus
“Slutting around?” I gape, rearing back. “Wow. For a grown woman, you sure speak like a catty teenager. Just wow, Gloria. Thanks for the check, but you can shove it up your tight ass and maybe knock something loose, like that haughty attitude you parade around with. Have a good life, bitch,” I hiss, staring at the amount on the check and laughing. “Seriously? Nine hundred bucks for what? An abortion? Get fucked,” I say, tearing it into pieces and throwing it like confetti around me. “Although, you probably don’t care right now. Someday you’ll see this child and want to be in their life, and I’ll tell you the same thing. Get. Fucked.”
Redness coats her cheeks when she vibrates with the same rage fueling my words. With stiff movements, she reaches into her purse again and slams down four separate envelopes with another grin.
“These are for you then,” she says, tapping each envelope with her long nails. “They wanted to ensure you didn’t followthem out there and ruin their lives again. So, here are your restraining orders forbidding you from ever contacting them again. No calls. No texts. No social media messages. The moment you do, they’ll report you to the authorities. They will be famous, and they don’t need the trash of their past slipping through the cracks. It also notes that you’re not allowed to mention them on any form of social media and slander their name. Your hands are officially tied, Miss West.” Her smug look makes my head rear back.
Anger builds more, and tears fall down my cheeks at her words. Restraining orders? Christ on a cracker, they’ve lost their fucking minds. But fine. Fine! If that’s how they want to fucking play it, then so be it. I’ll work my ass off for the rest of my life to forget about them and the fucked-up games they played with my heart. My only hang-up is the constant reminder they left me with. The one they want nothing to do with. Whatever. Odette and I will give this baby as much love as they need without the help of the four idiots who helped create him or her. They can brainwash themselves for as long as they want with whatever lies they want to.
I know the truth.
And one day, they will too.
Seven Months Later
The hot Julysun beams down when I step out of Bessy, groaning when I can stretch my legs. Sweat sticks to every damn inch of my skin, slowly dripping down my back. I swear, it's only nine in the morning, and the sun is already trying to roast me like a Thanksgiving turkey. Shit. Turkey sounds delicious.
And now, not only am I starving for the thousandth time in the two hours I've been awake, but every bone in my body aches. Seriously, it was only a ten-minute drive to the local grocery store, but it was still Hell on earth for my hips and legs. My least favorite activity these days is walking or any form of exercise. Minus sex, now that'd be a pleasant activity. Except no one wants to bang a broken-hearted, pregnant girl. So, here I am, seven months along and hornier than I've ever been in my life and fucking lonely. Where’s the good dick when you need it?
Normal women glow at this point in the pregnancy, raving about how their morning sickness has gone away and their acne has cleared. I call bullshit. I love this child with every fiber of my being, but I wish it were two months from now and she was here. Despite the circumstances and the lack of money, I’m over the moon to bring her into this world with me. It’s just her and me against the entire world. As she ages, I plan to tell her about those assfaces who tucked tail to live their rock star dreams and left us here. All positive, of course. I don't want her to go a day without knowing who helped create her.
“If you could stop kicking my bladder, that’d be great,” I mumble, rubbing a hand over my large stomach as she kicks me again. “Or not,” I quip, reaching into my backseat with a grin. “Just you and me, Lyric,” I say in a soothing voice, grabbing the grocery bags and hauling them into my hands. With a grunt, I shut the door and head up the back staircase of the record store to the apartment above it.
Seven months ago, my landlord informed me that I had to leave because my mom and I were in government-placed housing. We moved in there when I was a kid, and before my mom died, she had never added me to the lease. So, needless to say, I had to leave on a thirty-day notice, pregnant, grieving, and completely fucked up from the betrayal from the boys. Booker, bless his fucking heart, let me take over the abandoned apartment over the record store. I swear, when I'm a badass band manager, I'm buying him both businesses and a brand-new car for all the support he's given me over the years. The plus side? Van has no idea where I live and can’t snoop around, knocking on my doors every hour of the day, begging me to let him in.
My new apartment is a small one-bedroom, maybe, eight hundred square feet of living space. But it’s home now—a place to lay my head and a place for me to bring baby Lyric home whenthe time comes. It’s mine for now until I get through school and work.
One day, I’ll have more than an apartment above the record store. One day, I won’t depend on the government to help me buy food and provide for my medical needs. But that’s not today. Today, I’m still growing into the woman I’ll be in a few years and taking what I can get to survive.
Checking my phone, I note the time and curse. Quickly, I put my groceries away and head down to the record store to open with my laptop in tow.
For the past few months, I’ve been going through non-stop classes, getting closer and closer to my degree. Thankfully, the community college offers summer courses as a way to guarantee degrees at a faster pace. The faster I get this, the better off I’ll be. And maybe, sometime in the future, I can get my bachelor’s and expand my business degree in music.
Finally, I sit after hours of grocery shopping, walking, and moving around. Relief slams into my damn throbbing feet when I prop them up on the counter and pop in my one working earbud, groaning at the weight off my damn toes. God. Whoever said pregnancy was magical was a big, fat liar. Listen, I’ll love this child until I die, but if I ever have to go through this again—I might pluck the child out too early and call it a day.
As I settle in and sign into school, the professor begins speaking in a monotone voice. One day someone will let this man know his class is boring and he should lighten up a little bit.
I internally groan when the bell above the door rings, announcing the arrival of… Fuckity, fuck…
“Van,” I say through gritted teeth when he waltzes in with a grin, coming straight to the counter.
He cocks his head, taking me in when he leans on the counter, and his eyes widen. “I didn’t believe the rumors, but here you are. And you’re…”
“Very pregnant,” I grit out, narrowing my eyes at his smug face when he whistles. “What the hell do you want, Van?” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose in exasperation.
I haven’t seen this fool since the night he kissed me. So, to see him now up close and personal reminds me of the promise I made myself about castrating him and selling him as pig food.
“Just came by to see how you were doing,” he says, grinning and looking me over. “How've you been? I’ve been away for a while.” Genuine concern fills his eyes, but I don't fall into his manipulative trap like I used to.
“Oh, just peachy. Living the good life,” I quip, dripping with so much sarcasm we're practically swimming in it.
“Rivey,” he says in a low, pained voice. “I just… I just came by to see how you were coping with everything. And I wanted to tell you that I never took the money my dad offered me over you. I only broke up with you to go to college and get my degree. Not like them,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “I would never take money over you. In fact, I’ve been away making a better future for us.” I blink rapidly when he emphasizes the wordus, and I wrinkle my nose.
“Like them? For us?” I indulge him just this once, hanging on to his words and ignoring my professor yapping in my ear.
Like I give a shit if Van took the money over being with me. That ship sailed a long time ago. Besides, that's all on him and his problem—not mine. He can do what he wants. And by the crease in his forehead, I'm not giving him the reaction he wanted.
“Yeah. I… listen, I wasn't supposed to say anything, but Kieran was bragging about the massive check his mom gave him to leave you,” he says, watching my unmoving face. “And I would never do that. I went to Europe on my dad’s dime for an internship, and now I have every arsenal in my pocket for us to have a better future. You, me, and the baby.”
Even when it feels like a knife stabs through my fucking heart at the sound of his name. Kieran. The name I've refused to utter for months now. It feels like ash on my tongue the more my brain repeats it. Asher. Kieran. Callum. Rad. Shit. My stomach rolls, knotting around the memories we've shared.
